


Ghost in the Machine

by Mellorine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mind Control, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/pseuds/Mellorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl is no longer Prowl, and Arcee knows. But sometimes,  the end justifies the means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost in the Machine

She didn’t like Prowl -- she didn’t like anyone. But sometimes it seemed like he was the only person in the universe who didn’t look at her like she was broken. She was a tool in his optics, but that was so much better than being the mad weapon everyone else thought she was. She was useful. She was smart, strong. She was someone he could bitch to about the Prime without fear of reprisal. They could talk together and understand where the other was coming from.

They made a good team, which was probably why it was only inevitable that they ended up in bed together. She’d spend a long time making herself right again on Gorlam Prime, and when it was over she’d found herself craving what she’d thought she’d lost. What they’d stumbled into was rough, all jagged edges and harsh words. They used each other. It was perfect.

And now she was trapped performing this charade, knowing full well that the mech she once knew was now locked in his own shell, his every action played out by the monster settled in his processor.

Bombshell.

It’s what Prowl would have wanted though. Whatever needed to be done to stop the threat. It was entirely possible she could keep up the pretense of being as fooled as everyone else without continuing to frag him, but why risk it? And no one else was willing to so much as touch her. He’d understand. Not that it mattered. She’d had enough taken from her over the years; it was time to continue what she’d started with Jhiaxus and take what she wanted. And if what she wanted dovetailed so beautifully with her goal of stopping the Decepticons from achieving whatever they had planned, so much the better.

Was it calculating and cold of her? Undoubtedly.

Prowl would be so proud.

 

* * *

 

She was gratified to see Prowl ( _not Prowl_ , her spark whispered) flinch when she stepped out from the shadows in his office. So not all things were the same. She almost wished they were, but then what would that make her? If Prowl and this insect were the same in every way? The thought churned her tanks.

“Hey there,” she purred. “Working hard?”

The mech who wasn’t Prowl didn’t dignify that with an answer. “What do you want?” He seemed cautious. That was normal. Now to find out if it was caution borne of anticipation or caution borne of dread.

“Always skirting the answer.” She slipped behind him and rested her servos on his shoulders. Right near the neck. She could feel the pulse of energon lines beneath her fingers. “I think Cybertron can wait an hour or so, hmm?”

He stiffened and she graciously pretended to ignore it. She kept one servo at the nape of his neck and leaned forward, draping herself over him and smoothing her palm down the plane of his chest. “You haven’t forgotten our arrangement, have you?”

Tension still ticked beneath his plating. She could feel it in the coiled wires of his arms, the low venting of his breath. This could all go bad so quickly. Just give her an excuse.

He shifted under her servos and she moved, kicking away the chair beneath him and shoving him over the desk. “Remember our safeword,” she said and tore off his panel. As if they had ever needed a safeword.

He grunted in pain as energon dripped to the floor. “Ar --.”

“Shhhhh,shh,shh,shh.” She slipped three fingers in his mouth and his throat convulsed around them. Let him bite her. He always did. “Are you ready for me? No?” She smiled, vicious.

Her own panel slid aside and she slammed into his dry valve. It hurt. It _burned_. It hurt him too, if the sudden clench of his denta around her fingers was any clue. She drew back and slammed into him again. She was in no mood for games. They never had been.

She fucked him in silence. No more name-calling, no more baiting, no more snarled words. Maybe she was tipping her hand, but she didn’t care. This thing that pretended to be Prowl didn’t deserve what they had, violent and exploitative though it was. But she knew Prowl would agree with her: remember the plan. Play the long game. It doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as it gets done.

His valve became slick as she pounded him into the table, his calipers drawing her back in each time she pulled out. Her lip curled in disgust. How dare he. How dare he take pleasure from this. How dare he use Prowl’s frame like this.

She curled over him and shuddered through her overload, biting down on his shoulder hard enough for him to gasp in pain. Her spike jetted transfluid into him and she pulled out before she was through, letting it spill across his back and down his legs.

Vents heaving, she pushed away from him and sat down in his chair, not bothering to put away her spike.

He turned around, wiping his mouth. “Are you finished?” His tone was cold, but that was no clue.

Finished? They were never finished. There was never a stop, only a pause. She kicked his legs out from under him and grabbed his neck, pulling him forward until his face was mashed against her spike. “No, we’re not finished,” she laughed.

Prowl would have known better.

 

 


End file.
